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“All the interns have been going out a few times a week,” he said, biting down on a chip covered in cheese. “You should join us sometime.”
I shot him a look. “Sure, I’ll just swing by on one of my three bathroom breaks.”
“Oh, so Julia’s been ignoring you, too?” Becca said, leaning forward and showing her ample cleavage.
“Aw, I’m just kidding her,” Todd said. “I know that her attorney buries her under work.” He brushed the back of his hand gently down my arm, sending a shiver through me. I moved away, catching myself before I smiled at him. Flirting is fine, but I’m not about to take it further...even though you are so damn hot!
Becca shot me an inquisitive glance and I sent back a “he’s all yours” look. The waiter swung by with a platter of dirty glasses and plates, and Todd put in a drink order.
“So,” I said casually, “what’s it like working for De Luca?”
Todd snorted and nodded enthusiastically. “It is awesome. The guy is an absolute animal! You should see him in the courtroom. He rips these guys to shreds!”
“The courtroom?” I interrupted him. “You’ve been to court?” This is bullshit! Todd gets plush hours and courtroom experience?
“Yeah! He took me with him last Monday. It was awesome!”
Five minutes with Todd and I was already a little sick of the word awesome. Maybe I was just bitchy about my current situation. Either way, I tried to appear cool and offhand. “What was going on there Wednesday?”
“Wednesday?” Todd’s face scrunched up, as if he was concentrating hard. Seriously! I wanted to scream at him. Smith & Wollensky, lobster, music, two days ago, and you can’t remember?!
“Oh!” He slapped his head. “The Hatfield deal! You know the Hatfield family—the media tycoon? Mr. Hatfield finally settled so De Luca threw a mini celebration for the missus.”
“That was a mini celebration?” The words popped out before I could stop them.
Todd looked at me, surprised. “Yeah, well, you know, De Luca throws some big parties. We have a huge client party planned out at his house this weekend.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“Are you going?”
“Of course!” He snorted again. “It’s going to be, like, awesome! I heard he’s hiring strippers!”
WOW. Super Classy. De Luca seemed to live up to the reputation. I took a big sip of margarita and thanked God I hadn’t been assigned to him.
* * *
One giant margarita later, Todd was still hot, but now not quite as annoying. My drunken haze had turned his juvenile antics into sexy cool. I was starting to weaken, letting his hands do some roaming, when Olivia pulled me aside.
“Seriously, Jules, I’m going to do you a big favor and send you home.”
“Whaat...? Why?” My slurred voice sounded drunk, even to me. I waved my hand in front of my face, stopping Olivia from responding. “Never mind, you’re right. I’ll go.” I moved over and hugged Becca, gesturing over the music that I was heading out. She blew me a kiss and waved goodbye.
I hugged Olivia and Todd goodbye. He held the hug a few seconds longer than necessary, then gave me an extra squeeze. Olivia walked me out and offered to call a cab. I waved her away and pulled off my heels, starting the drunken stumble home.
Six
In every successful swinger relationship, there must be a set of rules so that everyone knows their place, and so that no one is offended or taken advantage of. Different couples practice different rules depending on their own preferences.
Seven
Tuesday, 10:00 a.m.
A file folder sat in the center of my desk. I walked into my office and stopped short, staring at it. I instantly knew it didn’t belong. It was red. Files on my desk were usually in the blue or green folders that were used for civil litigation or corporate filings. I picked it up hesitantly and thumbed through it. Immediately, I could tell it was a divorce file—Custody and Division of Assets were prominent tabs. I closed the file and tapped it on my desk, thinking, What to do...
I could call Ancient Dorothy, tell her that a file had been misdelivered, but that was just silly. I was less than twenty feet from the East Wing. I could just walk over there and deliver it to the first secretary I saw. It would take less than a minute, and then the file would be properly handled. It was the obvious and responsible course of action.
Except that Broward doesn’t want you going to the East Wing, my conscience nagged with a know-it-all tone. What am I, five? I countered, getting irritated at my conscience. I’m perfectly capable of returning a file without getting into any trouble.
Decision made, I grabbed the file and strode out of my office, ducking past Sheila and practically jogging past the remaining open doors. I felt as if the red folder was a giant Look at Me! sign advertising my destination. Which, of course, it kind of was. I tucked the folder under my arm and willed myself to be invisible. My concern was unnecessary. No one even looked up, everyone absorbed in the ever-present pile of work. Broward being out of town didn’t mean the presses stopped.
I took a last-minute detour into the restrooms located just to the right of the elevators and appraised myself in the mirror above the sink. The light in the bathroom was muted, but it was bright enough to show me that it was not my best day. Whether intentional or not, my knowledge that Broward would not be in this week had caused me to dress down and not put as much effort into my appearance. I was wearing khakis, a pressed white button-down shirt and one of my new pairs of sensible, low, open-toed heels. My hair was, as always, up in a bun, and I had opted for glasses instead of my normal contacts. Some people think of glasses as sexy. Those people haven’t seen my glasses. Coke bottles would be a more apt description.
I had neglected to put on makeup, which meant I had pale, untouched skin and dark circles under my eyes. I knelt and opened up the sink cabinet and fished around behind a tampon box, reaching into the dark depths and feeling blindly until my hand bumped against what I was looking for: my small cloth makeup bag.
My first day I had packed an emergency makeup kit, one that included mascara, lip gloss and concealer. I had stored it there in case I ever needed to freshen up before a big meeting, or hadn’t had time to do my face before work. I sent a silent thank-you up to God for blessing me with such incredible foresight, and hauled myself back up to a standing position.
Three minutes later I looked reasonably presentable. I still had my thick glasses, but I had long, plump lashes behind them and my lips had some color. The dark shadows were still present, but minimized by the concealer.
I grabbed the red file folder, opened the door and scolded my nervous butterflies. Then I straightened my shoulders, pulled open the heavy bathroom door and headed for the East Wing.
Eight
Rule 1: She is kept blindfolded for the first meeting. If the blindfold is to be taken off, it must be done by her alone.
The heavy East Wing double doors opened to a sea of noise and activity. People were everywhere, and everyone seemed to be very important, very busy or very emotional. I stopped just inside the doors and tried to get my bearings.
The room was large, dominated by three oversize curved secretarial desks that created a semicircle at the back of the room. To get to the secretaries, there was a wide path flanked on either side by leather seating clusters. Both seating arrangements were full. One seemed to hold a meeting in progress; the other had two leggy blondes and an older man in a suit, apparently waiting for something. To the right was a large glass conference room, another meeting in progress. I could hear muted tones of what sounded like an argument coming from that side. On the left were offices, probably holding paralegals and Todd. Behind the secretaries was a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows through which I could see the downtown skyline. I could also see a man standing at his desk, a phone to his ear. Judging from the size of the office and its view, I assumed it was De Luca’s. Okay, Julia. Get in, get out, and stop gawking.
I moved quickly and—I hoped—confidently toward the secretary cluster. Their three desks were elevated, and I felt like a defendant approaching the judge. The secretaries all seemed cut from the same cloth: old, dignified and spicy. Headmistress-style seemed to be De Luca’s preference. Or perhaps HR’s preference for De Luca. The center headmistress wore a red suit and had a brass nameplate on her desk that indicated her name was Carol Featherston.
She looked up as I approached and her sharp gaze immediately locked on the red folder held in my now-sweaty clutches. She skipped a greeting and held out her hand. I passed the file meekly over. Her phone started to ring, but she ignored it and flipped quickly through the file, then snapped it shut and looked back at me.
“Where did you get this?”
“I’m Julia Campbell, from Broward’s office. I—”
“Where did you get this?” Her piercing gaze and shrill voice told me to get to the point.
“It was on my desk, ma’am.”
“All right, I’ll handle it. Thank you.” The snappy response seemed to indicate that I was done. I couldn’t imagine this woman planning stripper-filled parties. Todd must have been exaggerating. I smiled politely at her and turned to leave. My exit was interrupted by a loud rapping of knuckles on glass. I paused midturn and glanced back at Ms. Featherston. She held up a finger and glanced over her shoulder. I followed her gaze.
A bear of a man stood at the glass partition of the large office with the view. He had the build of an ex-athlete—impossibly broad shoulders and muscular arms that his thousand-dollar dress shirt couldn’t hide. He had olive skin and a thick head of hair—strong, handsome features. He would have been too good-looking if it weren’t for the fierceness of his features. He looked like the kind of man who chased confrontation down and then ate it for breakfast. Phone to his ear, his knuckles were still rapping the glass when my eyes met his. He pointed one finger at me and then motioned for me to come, turning his back and pacing away without waiting for a response. Uh-oh.
I must have had panic on my face when Ms. Featherston turned back to me. Her stiff expression softened slightly; her tone was a little kinder, but still firm.
“Go on in,” she said. “He wants you.”
Ms. Featherston returned her attention to the file. I glanced around, looking for an escape, and then, wobbly, made my way around the secretary stand to the door of the office. Brad De Luca was printed on a brass nameplate in the center of the door. Broward is going to kill me.
I opened the door without knocking and walked in, shutting it quietly behind me. I stood by the entrance, hands together in front of me, and waited for De Luca to get off the phone. His office was long, and there seemed to be a silly amount of space between where I stood and where he paced. I’m not moving a damn step closer to this man if I can help it. I seemed to be having trouble breathing. My chest was tight. Beads of sweat were forming on my upper lip. I tried to discreetly wipe them off. What the hell am I so nervous about? He’s not going to eat me, for Christ’s sake.
He finished his conversation and hung up the phone, staring at me. Looking into his eyes, I felt my knees buckle slightly. There was this draw to him, this indescribable pull that I couldn’t break from. He emitted, even across the large office, a wave of power, intelligence...and sexuality. No freaking wonder everyone talked about this man. Seeming to be completely at ease, he picked up a stress ball and squeezed it, never breaking eye contact. I felt like an innocent little fawn stuck in the lion’s gaze. I stayed quiet and waited for his gorgeous self to say something.
“I need a car,” he finally said. His voice was sexy and deep, definitive. He sounded like a man who had never second-guessed a single action his entire life. I, on the other hand, was second-guessing every predisposed opinion I had made about him. Maybe Broward and Sheila were right to be worried.
“A car?” My voice came out a little higher than I had intended, almost a squeak. I definitely needed to get my shit together.
“Yes. I know the casino typically handles my transportation, but I plan to go on a side trip this weekend, and want a car.” He picked up his phone and started to punch in a number, as if to indicate that our conversation was over. Then he paused, looking at me again, closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, his gaze sweeping over my body in an obvious perusal. I bristled slightly, crossing my arms over my chest, feeling my cheeks warm.
When he spoke, his tone was slightly confused. “Have you done something different?”
“Different?” I didn’t really know what to say. This was the strangest interaction I had ever had. I’m sure he was blown away by my verbose and witty conversation.
He came around the desk slightly, eyes locked again on mine. Please don’t come closer. “You look...different.”
I felt as if I was in Crazy Town. Has he seen me before? “I’m wearing glasses.”
De Luca looked at me again, then something flipped in his eyes, a moment of understanding. He turned away from me, continuing to dial a number, and I understood that our interchange was over.
That was freaking weird.
I walked back to the center desk and waited for Ms. Featherston to look up. She did, after a moment.
“Mr. De Luca asked me to reserve a car? For this weekend?” I sounded inept, even to my own ears.
Featherston looked confused, and then her expression cleared. Her mouth curved into something resembling a smile. “He thinks you’re Tiffany,” she said wryly.
“Who?”
“Tiffany. The girl downstairs who handles travel arrangements. You look like her...slightly. He must have gotten confused. I’ll make sure she gets the message.” She shot me an amused look and then refocused on her computer.
I turned on my heel and headed for the doors, wanting to get back to the normalcy of the West Wing. Wow, talk about an ego check. What a...jerk! So caught up in his own world he mistakes me for someone else—like all of us are bland, interchangeable slaves waiting around to jump to his ridiculous travel needs? I could feel my irritation building. I pulled my shoulders back and straightened my head, enjoying the anger coursing through my body. It felt good having some of my backbone again.
Back at my desk, I pulled out my cell and sent a quick text to Olivia. Dinner and drinks tonight?
Her response was quick, and affirmative. We agreed, through a series of texts, to meet at 8:00 p.m. at Café Salsa, a downtown tapas bar known for their great bands. I locked my phone and put it back in my purse. I planned on enjoying this Broward-free week, and damned if I’d let that asshole De Luca affect it. I attacked my pile of files with new gusto.
* * *
A few moments after the double doors closed behind that delicious ass, Brad dialed a second number, watching the stately secretary outside his office answer her phone.
“Yes, Mr. De Luca?”
“Who was that?”
A soft chuckle sounded in his ear, and she spun in her chair, meeting his eyes through the thick glass. “That was one of the interns. Kent Broward’s.” She looked at him with a glare that would melt a lesser man’s skin. “I trust this will be the last I see of her?”
He met her glare and smiled, turning away and walking to his desk. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
That night, I dressed to kill, picking out a red minidress and sky-high nude stilettos. I straightened my hair and carefully applied my makeup. Putting on my sexiest lace bra and a matching thong, I shimmied into my dress and then dusted bronzer over my legs, chest and arms. A small black purse in hand, I stood in front of the mirror and gave myself the once-over. Hot damn, woman. You are looking good.
At five minutes before eight, Olivia pulled up outside my apartment in her old gray Ford Explorer, blaring Katy Perry. I skittered out on my heels, navigating the overgrown path with care. Entering Olivia’s SUV was like crawling into a bubblegum bubble. It smelled yummy and completely feminine, and said girl as loud as the feather boa hanging from the rearview mirror could scream.
We sang and car-danced the ten minutes to Café, my spirits rising with every chorus. At the restaurant, we got a great corner table with a view of the dance floor and bar.
“So, give me the goods,” she demanded as soon as we sat down.
“What goods?”
“You know! On your new job, life, everything! I haven’t seen you in over two weeks, and last weekend didn’t count! Becca was there, and that prevents any real conversation from occurring.” She giggled to soften her point, but we both knew she meant it. Becca was wonderful, but Becca was all about Becca, twenty-four hours a day. “Any word from Luke?”
I rolled my eyes at her reference to my ex. “No, thank God. He doesn’t know about my internship, and I don’t think anyone has told him where I live. Has he called you anymore?”
She shook her head in response. “Just that one time. I think I made it pretty clear to him then that he wasn’t going to get any information from me.”
I brought my martini up to signal a toast. She followed suit.
“To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” she parroted. We clinked glasses and both took generous sips.
“So, tell me about the new job.” Her eyes glimmered. “Anything going on with you and that gorgeous hunk we saw at Amigos?”
“Todd?” I grimaced and shook my head. “No, he’s too...I don’t know...immature. Besides, I don’t want to get involved with anyone at work. It’s too complicated.” I thought of De Luca and my face flushed.
Olivia caught the tell. “What? What is it?”
I told her about De Luca, Broward’s warning and today’s interchange. She started to giggle and then clamped a hand over her mouth at my glare.
“It’s not funny,” I hissed.
“Oh, come on! It is funny! You trotted in there thinking that he would bend over backward to woo you, like every other guy you come across. Instead he gave you a menial task and sent you on your way!” She smiled affectionately at me, and patted my arm. “It’s okay, Jules. Not everyone is susceptible to your charms.”
I shrugged and was on the verge of a witty comeback when a server materialized at our table with two martini glasses filled with blue, glowing liquid. “Ladies, these drinks are from the table by the stage.” He deposited the drinks in front of us and disappeared before we had time to formulate a response. I drew my blue martini close and tried to glance discreetly over my shoulder. Three suits by the stage nodded and raised their drinks. I gave them a quick smile and turned back to Olivia.
“What do you think?”
Olivia leaned to the side and spoke over the sugary rim of her new drink.
“Fairly cute. They look successful, a little old.”
“How old?”
“Umm...late twenties? Maybe even thirty.” She said thirty as if it was ancient. Which, for us, it was.
“Any wedding rings?”
